Before I had my girls, I was a newspaper reporter for a Southern Indiana daily newspaper. I was also stringing for the Associated Press for a season, covering important local stories and even interviewing celebrities from time to time.
When I went places in our readership area, people I’d never met before “knew me” and spoke to me about past stories I’d written or offered ideas for new pieces I should pursue.
I liked being Michelle Adams, newspaper reporter.
But, after I had our daughters, Abby and Ally, I eventually gave up my crazy, interesting, life-consuming job as a newspaper reporter to stay home and be a mommy while trying to build a freelance writing career.
Suddenly, my day went from morning news meetings to morning cartoons. I wasn’t up on who had filled the vacant city council seats, but I could name every character on “Barney & Friends.”
Life had changed, and I hadn’t been prepared for it.
About a year after leaving the newspaper, my husband’s CPA firm was invited to a Chamber of Commerce event, so of course, I went as Jeff’s date. I was so excited to get out of my leggings and Uggs and into a nice dress and heels.
As we mingled that night, chatting it up with the local movers and shakers, it was obvious I was no longer in the “in crowd.”
I had transformed from “Michelle Adams, newspaper reporter” to simply Jeff’s wife and Abby’s and Ally’s mother. I had little to contribute to conversation since no one at the party seemed to care that Sesame Street had added a new member to its cast.
Eventually, I gave up and left the corporate side of the room to find the other mommies who were there with their husbands, excited for a night out as well.
Thankfully, the Mommy group was extremely accepting, and I had lots to discuss with them. We talked about recent toy recalls, formula versus breast feeding and the “Disney on Ice” event that was coming to Indianapolis the following month.
Still, when Jeff and I headed home that night, I felt unimportant, confused and frustrated.
“Why are you so quiet?” Jeff asked on the car ride home.
“I’m not really sure.”
“Something wrong?” he asked, grabbing my hand across the console.
“No, not really,” I said. “I guess I realized tonight that I’ve lost my identity. I just have to figure out who I am again.”
Those words hung in the air the rest of the ride home. Jeff wasn’t sure how to respond, and I wasn’t sure what to say either.
I felt guilty for even having those thoughts, knowing that so many of my friends desired to stay home with their children but their financial situations wouldn’t permit it. Here I’d gotten exactly what I wanted, and now I wasn’t sure I wanted it.
My mom, our go-to babysitter, had already put the girls to bed by the time we arrived home. I gently kissed Abby on her forehead, careful not to wake her, and then did the same for Ally. They both smelled like baby lotion. Mom had no doubt given them a bath before bed.
As I closed the door behind me, I couldn’t help but smile, so thankful for my girls and so grateful to be their mommy.
I realized at that moment that I wasn’t longing for my old life as a newspaper reporter. I loved my life. Being a wife and mother (and sometimes freelance writer) was more than enough. What I missed was the title and identity that went along with my newspaper job.
That night was the beginning and end of my identity crisis. I spent some time with the Lord before going to bed, and I re-discovered that my identity was in Christ–period.
No matter the season of my life. No matter if I wore the mommy hat or the writer hat on that particular day. No matter if I was surrounded by newsroom full of fellow reporters chasing down stories or a sea of sippy cups and pacifiers–I was still me.
And that “me” was fully committed to my Heavenly Father. It didn’t matter that the movers and shakers in our area no longer knew my name because the Creator of the Universe knew my name and had even recorded it in the Lamb’s Book of Life!
So, if you’re in the middle of an identity crisis–not sure who you are or where you fit or if you belong–I’ve been there. But, the answer is the same for you as it was for me. You are a child of the Most High God. He knew you in your mother’s womb, and he has a great plan for your life.
Through job changes, geographic moves, name changes, church divisions, family separations, different seasons of life–through it all–God is never changing, and his love for you is steadfast. As Christians, our identity is in Christ, and that’s more than enough.
